


Green Becomes You

by CarmillaCarmine



Series: Johnlock Fluff [19]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Art, Art Embedded, Drunk Sherlock Holmes, First Kiss, Fluff, Jealous John Watson, Jealous Sherlock, M/M, POV John Watson, Romantic Fluff, St. Patrick's Day, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, and one bathroom, art available, drunkedness, explicit hand holding, patience - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-22 15:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30040494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarmillaCarmine/pseuds/CarmillaCarmine
Summary: Dublin is very busy on St. Patrick’s Day. And there’s only one bed in John and Sherlock’s hotel room.Fic and art collaboration with the talentedNitaElwy
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Johnlock Fluff [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2134641
Comments: 38
Kudos: 100
Collections: St. Patrick's Day Johnlock





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Enterthetadpole](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enterthetadpole/gifts), [NitaElwy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NitaElwy/gifts).



> This story is part of [St. Patrick's Day Johnlock Collection](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/St_Patricks_Day_Johnlock)  
> Written for a Patreon commission for Enterthetadpole.

“That was brilliant!” John exclaimed the moment they left the police station in Dublin. Sherlock had delivered an especially impressive deduction, clearly enjoying the sound of jaws dropping to the floor throughout the station. 

“I told you I could solve it from home, but you insisted on coming here,” Sherlock said smugly, turning his collar up.

“The man was killed at the[ Guinness Storehouse](https://www.guinness-storehouse.com/en), you have to admit it was at least a ‘seven’ for the location.”

“Five and a half,” Sherlock smirked. 

“Fine,” John sighed, ready to reveal his deception. “I had an ulterior motive.” He hoped he looked sorry even if he truly wasn’t. 

“Yes, you wanted to participate in the events that brought all this crowd to the city.” Sherlock waved a hand indicating the tourists milling about the streets, wearing various shades of green. “Honestly, the worst time for a case in Dublin.”

_Of course, Sherlock had already deduced John’s reasoning._

“I’ve never had the chance to celebrate St Patrick’s day in Ireland. I’ve wanted to come many times but there was always something keeping me home. A case seemed like a good excuse,” John shrugged unapologetically. It had been a pretty good case and, as a thank you for solving it, they’d had a private tour of the Storehouse. 

“What’s the celebration?” Sherlock asked, his long legs eating the distance to their hotel as they passed buildings lit up green for the evening.

“Oh come on, you know St. Patrick’s Day — beer, parties and all that. It’s an Irish holiday.”

“Must have deleted it. I only kept the holidays you celebrate; Christmas, Easter and your birthday.” The matter-of-fact tone of Sherlock’s voice belittled the words he’d spoken; words that spread warmth through John’s chest. “So we flew here so you could party?”

“Well… yeah. _We._ I hoped you could join me. There’s a parade tomorrow, and I wanted to do some bar hopping.” John inspected Sherlock’s profile for a reaction as they stopped at a pedestrian crossing. 

“I don’t like flying and you dragged me here for a beer?” Sherlock scoffed, continuing walking. 

“I knew you wouldn’t have come unless there was a case. Wait, you don’t like flying? Since when?” John frowned, racking his brain for any proof of Sherlock’s confession.

“Since always. I just don’t whine about it,” said Sherlock, thrusting his chin up. 

“You whine about everything else.” John pointed out. 

“I do not!”

“Well, we’re here now so we might as well have some fun,” John quipped to cut off Sherlock’s theatrics. 

“Fun,” Sherlock snorted. “I should let Mycroft know that we couldn’t book a hotel and had to use his usual room so you could have _fun_.” 

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

The previous day, they’d arrived at the[ Merrion Hotel](https://www.merrionhotel.com/photo-gallery/) \-- right by the Square of the same name in the centre of Dublin, and had been granted a spacious[ Merrion Suite](https://www.merrionhotel.com/stay-at-the-merrion/main-house-rooms-suites/) the moment Sherlock uttered his brother’s name. The Georgian building with its lush, period-proper interior had visually transported them into a regency costume drama. Even now, nearing the four-storey, brick building, John felt as if he was about to spy on the aristocracy. 

A sly smirk played at the corner of Sherlock’s lips as he opened the door to the hotel’s lobby to let John in. “Yes, actually I should tell Mycroft why we’re here, or let him deduce it from his bank statement. Meanwhile, he has a tab here and they serve excellent food.” He paused, turning to John with a sly smile. “Dinner?”

“Starving,” John replied with a grin, following Sherlock though the marble-laid, columned front hall and into the restaurant. 

They talked about the case, giggling like schoolboys over the extravagant dinner, loosening up after two intense days of crime-solving. Stuffed and tired, they retreated upstairs. 

“Good thing your brother’s room has a king bed,” John chuckled then flushed, realising how he sounded. Sherlock ignored his remark completely, taking off his coat. 

The night before, Sherlock had been working the case at the suite’s desk, so John had had the bed to himself. Now the case had been solved, Sherlock would finally want to sleep. And so would John… 

True enough, after soaking in the tub like the primadonna he was, Sherlock emerged in pyjama bottoms and a tee that clung to his damp chest. John’s eyes followed the lithe movements of his best friend and he scolded himself inwardly for ogling. It wasn’t sexual, it really wasn’t, but any human being with a heartbeat and a sex drive would notice Sherlock’s extraordinary beauty. Ok, maybe it was a teeny bit sexual, but it changed nothing. Sherlock didn’t feel that way and John… John needed a drink. 

“I’m going to take a nap,” Sherlock announced, climbing under the crisp sheets and baby-blue and white patterned duvet. 

“Okay. I’ll uh...I can sleep on the sofa,” John croaked, indicating the satin two-seater in the other part of the suite. _‘How clever, Irish fabrics and 18th-century style townhouse interior,’_ Sherlock had described the room the day before.

“Don’t be ridiculous, the bed is big enough for us not to touch,” Sherlock said, punching the pillow as if it offended him. 

“Right…” John mumbled. Of course, Sherlock wouldn’t want them to touch. 

“They have a cellar bar,” Sherlock said out of the blue.

“What?” John frowned, turning in his direction.

“You like a drink after a closed case, and they have a cellar bar. Just tell them to bill the room.” Sherlock yawned and pulled the duvet to his chin.

“Great, thanks.” John sighed, watching Sherlock fall asleep the moment his head touched the pillow. Going to have a pint didn’t sound appealing when he had to go alone. 

For a moment, he stood in the middle of the spacious suite, his eyes on his sleeping friend. The peaceful expression on Sherlock’s face in slumber made him look a lot younger than when he was in the throes of deduction. The sharp lines of his face softened, his brows smoothed, his lips parted slightly as if waiting for a kiss to wake him up. 

Taking a step towards him, John pulled the duvet higher, hesitating just a breath before he leaned in to brush his lips over Sherlock’s forehead. His stomach fluttered at the innocent contact and he closed his eyes to exhale a shuddering breath before he marched to the bathroom. It wasn’t often that he let his affection towards his friend manifest as physically as a kiss, but this time, he couldn’t help himself. There was a yearning inside him when faced with Sherlock’s form, whether he was asleep, in deep thought or smiling his adorable crooked smile at him. He had to tread carefully not to push Sherlock away with his unwanted affection. But the gradually more frequent touches on the elbow or hip when they moved around the house were like pieces of quartz rubbed together to create a spark of hope. Maybe he just needed to be patient, and a time might come when Sherlock could see John as more than a friend. 

The lukewarm water washed the day’s sweat off John’s back, his tired body grateful for the moment of respite between cases. To recharge, he needed sleep. Tonight, he would have to find it next to Sherlock. He’d have to sleep very close yet still too far for what he craved. 

Showered and t-shirt clad, John scratched his brow as he stood by the bed Sherlock occupied. The only bed in the suite. 

His hand didn’t shake when he lifted the duvet to slide under. Staying on his side, as close to the edge of the bed as possible, John could still feel the heat of Sherlock’s sleeping form in the middle of it. He should have asked for a second duvet, but now he was too tired to even call reception. Facing Sherlock, John inhaled the scent of his best friend. If he was honest with himself, the knowledge of Sherlock so close was a comfort similar to hearing him play in the sitting room of 221B when John was unable to sleep. Sherlock’s even breathing, like music, lulled John to sleep. 

John woke up with a yelp at an ungodly hour when his back hit the floor by the bed, the thick rug saving him from more damage than bruising. He’d been sleeping too close to the edge. 

Returning to bed, he positioned himself closer to the middle, his back to Sherlock. The man’s sharp elbow bit into his back before Sherlock repositioned. A tiny sound of content left John when Sherlock’s palm splayed on his back and he drifted off back into a peaceful slumber.

(Art for this chapter by [NitaElwy - Twitter](https://twitter.com/NitaElwyArt/status/1371153816708612107) / [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/CMaG4gHlJjX/?igshid=1poxw63hsllmt))


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John hopes Sherlock will join him in Dublin’s celebrations of St. Patrick’s Day as he battles with the pull towards his best friend that becomes stronger every day.

John woke up facing Sherlock, with the man’s large hand wrapped around his wrist and Sherlock’s hair tickling his nose. 

For several minutes, he lay watching the morning sun play on Sherlock’s face, his hair falling over his forehead, his chest rising and falling. _God, he was beautiful._ The touch of Sherlock’s fingers around John’s wrist was warm, giving him a taste of how it would feel on other parts of his body. Eyes fluttering closed, he imagined Sherlock’s hand on his cheek, his neck, his collarbone... 

Sherlock turned onto his back, startling John, breaking him away from his musings, but keeping a loose hold on John’s wrist. _Get a grip, Watson._ Maximum stealth on, John wiggled out of the grasp and onto the floor. 

Sighing with relief when Sherlock didn’t stir, John went to brush his teeth. Dressed for the day, he took his breakfast in the outside gardens, enjoying the quiet atmosphere, despite the chilly mid-March weather.

When he came back up to the room, Sherlock was still in bed. His ‘nap’ lasted from seven the night before until noon. John closed the door loud enough for Sherlock to sit up like Nosferatu woken from a long slumber. 

Einstein had nothing on Sherlock’s hair in the morning. 

Stifling a giggle at the sight, John feigned busying himself with the chocolates neatly presented on the round coffee table. 

“Since you’re awake, the parade just started and if we hurry —” John’s words died in his throat when Sherlock rolled out of bed with utmost grace and unceremoniously stripped to his birthday suit. “We could… make it.” John forced his gaze away from Sherlock’s double-moon-at-noon and looked through the window. 

Their room overlooked The Merrion’s private gardens, filled with slowly blooming greenery and several tables, where John had enjoyed his late breakfast. Right now, he couldn’t see the gardens at all, as his eyes focused on the reflection of Sherlock’s pert buttocks in the glass as they disappeared under a pair of boxers. John squeezed his eyes shut. He shouldn’t look. 

“Get me a coffee, and I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes,” Sherlock said, probably getting dressed — John didn’t dare open his eyes to check. 

“Really? You’re coming?” John asked, genuinely surprised that Sherlock didn’t need more convincing. 

“You said it’s important to you. Of course, I’m coming,” Sherlock huffed as if John was being an idiot. The man had an uncanny ability to say the sweetest things, while managing to offend John in the process. 

“You can drink it on the way. I’ll be downstairs,” John said, swivelling on his heel and out the door. 

The nearest coffee shop was opposite their hotel, but the line was long enough for John to march back inside. Feeling like he was pushing the limits of polite behaviour, he asked for two coffees to go at reception. 

Fifteen minutes later, Sherlock appeared downstairs, looking like he was ready to pick up the keys to his Aston Martin, not go with John for a pub crawl. He lifted his eyebrow at the coffee in porcelain cups John was holding but accepted one without question. Yes, fancy hotels did _not_ offer to-go coffee cups. With an air of elegance, Sherlock perched on a seat in the lobby and sipped his coffee, John joining him, enjoying the moment of silence before venturing into the crowd outside.

“The parade started at Parnell Square,” John said, looking down at the article on his phone once they left the hotel. “The website says it will move along O’Connell Street and Dame Street, travelling around[ St Patrick’s Cathedral](https://www.lonelyplanet.com/ireland/dublin/attractions/st-patricks-cathedral/a/poi-sig/398191/359796) and ending at Kevin Street,” John read. 

Plucking John’s phone from his fingers, Sherlock inspected the map in the article then handed it back.

“Come on, I know a shortcut,” he said, darting off in a swirl of coattails. 

“Right,” John said to himself as Sherlock was already gone. “Sherlock! You're tall, but I still can't see you over the crowd. Slow down,” he protested, running after his friend.

Sherlock turned around, pursed his lips then offered his left hand. 

“Take my hand. We won't get separated that way.”

“Sure, of course.” John nodded, swallowing hard, knowing his ears must have pinkened. 

Sherlock could have clasped John's palm. Instead, as if in slow motion, John watched each of Sherlock’s fingers intertwining with his own until their hands were linked like a broken pot finally glued together again. 

John was thankful for their fast pace, which disguised the blush that spread on his cheeks. As they trudged through the crowd of people dressed in green, all John registered was the feel of Sherlock’s hand in his.

In the spirit of fun, John purchased a few essentials for the occasion from one of the dozens of stands set up along the parade route. Eyeroll notwithstanding, Sherlock agreed to wear a fitting accessory.

“You look dapper,” John said, looking at Sherlock’s serious expression as John fastened a green bowtie around his neck that matched the beads already there. “Green becomes you.”

“And you look like a Leprechaun,” Sherlock smirked, eyeing John’s green hat with fake red hair sticking from under it.

“You arse!” John smacked Sherlock on the arm playfully and they both burst into laughter.

John was able to hear the parade but not really see much of it. For half a second the thought of asking Sherlock to give him a piggy-back ride crossed his mind, but he discarded it. Finally, Sherlock wiggled them into a better vantage point near the street and they admired the various animal floats, one in the shape of a harp, or an eye — sprinkled with dancers between them. Feeling Sherlock right next to him, the tight crowd pushing them close, John wished he could rest his head on Sherlock’s shoulder without the inner panic at ruining their friendship. He wasn’t sure what he wanted yet, but his body and soul yearned to be closer to his best friend in any way he’d let him. 

He’d always assumed he wasn’t gay, but since meeting Sherlock he’d been rethinking his stance on being straight. As a matter of fact, he was sure he was not. But also, maybe he was looking for a connection with a human being that went beyond physical, beyond what he could get if he picked up a woman at a bar. The link he had with Sherlock was extraordinary, but was he, and more importantly, was Sherlock, ready for more?

Just then, Sherlock squeezed his hand, prompting John to look up. Seeing the bored expression on his friend’s face, John tugged on the hand and motioned to back away from the front line of the spectators. 

A flock of women in green outfits carrying trays above their heads stopped in front of them. Their hats had a logo of the nearby pub, and each of them handed beer samples to the crowd, enticing them to stop by.

“Woo!” one of them yelped, handing John a plastic cup of lager. “Enjoy!”

“Thanks!” John yelled over the noise of the parade music, taking the drink with his free hand. 

In the corner of John’s eye, Sherlock accepted a beer from a tall brunette who placed her green-painted lips on his cheek. 

John narrowed his eyes and downed his beer in several long gulps. 

“Come on, let’s get some more,” he told Sherlock, tugging at his hand. 

They veered into Dame Lane, right off George’s St, where people strolled between pubs with a pint in hand.

“Wait,” John said before they entered the first bar. “Let me get this off you,” he mumbled through clenched teeth as he reached with his thumb to Sherlock’s face. The green lipstick was glaringly obvious and John squicked his finger back and forth to get it off Sherlock’s cheek. “Done,” he said triumphantly, not missing the smirk of amusement that formed on Sherlock’s face. 

She’d forced herself on Sherlock. Rude. John had never kissed Sherlock on the cheek, not even casually. Not that he really wanted to… except he did. _Fuck._ The forehead kiss had been a mistake. Now his head was full of possibilities of where else he could kiss Sherlock…

John woke up from his musings when the bartender asked him to order. 

“Two beers,” he said, having not had the time to pick exactly what he wanted. He frowned when two pints appeared in front of him a moment later. 

“Green beer? Really?”

The barman ignored his question as he took the next order, tapping his green-painted nail on the card reader. _Beer was beer after all._ John touched his card to the reader and looked around for Sherlock.

“Do you know…” a swaying guy with a bushy, red beard said, taking the stool next to John. “That is was the Americans who came up with the green beer idea for St Paddy’s?”

“Oh really?” John leaned forward, interested to hear the story.

“Yeah, in New York in 1914 or so, there was this professor bloke —”

“Come on, John,” Sherlock interrupted, inserting himself between John and the man. “This one’s mine?” He pointed at the other beer in front of John. “Excellent,” he said, tugging on John’s jacket sleeve, sloshing the beer on the bar. 

“Easy! I’m coming,” John mumbled taking a healthy sip of the green goodness so no more would be wasted by accidental spilling. “Wait,” John raised a finger, clicked his glass to Sherlock’s and downed his beer to the last drop. Sherlock smiled, accepting the challenge, and drank his own in a similar fashion.

Running from the rain as it started pouring, they burst into the bar next door. By the time John placed the order, Sherlock managed to get himself into what looked like a betting game of some sort, with several men gathered around a table. _Shit._ They all listened as he talked, waving his hands, pointing to the sleeves of their shirts. When he was done, they slid their green shot glasses towards him and he downed all five of them one by one, tilting his head back. Another cheer erupted. 

“No way that guy doesn’t know you!” a burly man in a blue hoodie yelled when John approached close enough to hear him. 

“I swear I’ve never seen him before in my life,” came from a tall, blond man, looking as astonished as the rest of the table. 

“Then you told him everything about you somehow.”

“I swear I didn’t, he won it fair and square. No clue how he did it. But he did.”

“Yeah, he’s like that,” John interjected, patting Sherlock’s shoulder, echoing the words Mike had said to him years ago. 

“Yup,” Sherlock popped the P, swayed, and plucked a set of notes from the blue-hoodie bloke’s hand. “A round on me!” Sherlock yelled, waving two twenties and a tenner before slapping them on the bar. The table cheered, and John grinned from ear to ear at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. He’d never seen Sherlock act so openly before. Then again, it wasn’t often Sherlock was drunk.

“We should go before they want to see more of my ‘trick’,” Sherlock whispered conspiratorially, using air quotes. John giggled at the sight, following Sherlock out the door as they joined the late-night crowd still roaming the streets. 

“You were brilliant in there. They all stared at you with mouths hanging open, some impressed, some sceptical and a few downright horny.” John chuckled, sliding hands into the pockets of his jacket. 

“Which one were you?” Sherlock asked, turning his collar up even though it wouldn’t shield him from the rain. 

“At least two of the three,” John said before he realised how it sounded. His laugher died when Sherlock stopped walking. 

John turned to see Sherlock in the middle of the pavement, hands in coat pockets, eyes on John. _Oops._

“Not sceptical. You know me better than that.” Sherlock tilted his head, his penetrating gaze sharp, the drunk sway — gone.

“No, not sceptical.” John swallowed and took a step closer. It hadn’t been the first time he’d thought of Sherlock as brilliant, nor the first time he’d considered him beautiful. Many times he’d watched Sherlock’s mouth spell out brilliant deductions and thought of kissing it, wondering how the lush lips would taste like. He never wanted to scare Sherlock away by carelessly offering what Sherlock didn’t want. But what if he did? 

John licked his lips at the same time Sherlock parted his own. _This was it. This was the moment._ John placed his hands on Sherlock’s chest as Sherlock’s thumb slid across John’s bottom lip. 

They met in the middle. John holding on to the lapels, standing on his tiptoes, Sherlock leaning down. Their lips linked for a moment before Sherlock’s tongue sneaked out and John’s resolve not to spook Sherlock shattered. Heat enveloped his body when Sherlock’s tongue danced with his, sensuously sliding along, exploring. He tasted of the lager he’d been drinking and heat and Sherlock… like in the dreams John always woke up from. Just when he was about to pull away, afraid it would be too much, Sherlock’s hand slid from John’s neck to cup his face, the long fingers tilting John’s head for a better angle. 

The tiny droplets of the pouring rain beat against their coats, their faces, and their hands, but it was not enough to pull them apart. 

John moaned into the kiss when Sherlock pulled him closer with a firm hand on his lower back. Giving in, he melted, his entire skin tingling with excitement as his stomach somersaulted, his heat pounded, and his cock swelled.

_Dear God above, the man could kiss._

Suddenly, Sherlock pushed John away so suddenly, he nipped John’s lip with his teeth. John stumbled back, nearly falling on his arse, but managing to stay upright thanks to the nearby post office box. 

Sherlock bent over, braced a hand on the nearest brick building and puked all over it. 

(Art for this chapter by [NitaElwy - Twitter )](https://twitter.com/NitaElwyArt/status/1372234549070069760?s=20)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, kudos and comments! They mean a lot and keep me writing!  
>   
> If you enjoy my writing consider subscribing to [my profile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarmillaCarmine):)  
> If you enjoy fluffy stories like this one, check out my ["Johnlock Fluff Series"](https://archiveofourown.org/series/2134641) of stand-alone fics.  
>   
> To read more St. Patrick's Day fics from other writers (or add your own), check out: [St. Patrick's Day Johnlock Collection](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/St_Patricks_Day_Johnlock)  
> You can follow/contact me on:  
> [Johnlock Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sherlockedcarmilla)  
> [Johnlock Twitter](https://twitter.com/CarmillaCarmin)  
> For queries connected with translating/ podficcing my work, please see my bio :)


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